you and drew are the kind of couple people dream about. the kind that makes strangers smile just by looking at you. in public, you’re all laughter and playful teasing, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders while you steal his hat just to watch him chase you down. cameras catch the way he grins at you like you’re the only person in the world, and fans adore how effortlessly in sync you are.

“y’all are my favorite couple,” a girl gushes at a meet-and-greet, and drew just beams, slipping an arm around your waist. “i don’t blame you,” he jokes, winking at you, and you roll your eyes, trying to suppress your own smile.

but behind closed doors, it’s different. softer, needier. you barely make it past the front door before his hands are on you, pulling you into him, lips brushing over your neck like he can’t stand even an inch of space between you.

“missed you,” he murmurs against your skin, and you sigh, melting into him.

“we were literally together all day.”

“doesn’t matter.” his hands roam, fingers digging into your hips as he backs you up against the kitchen counter. his lips trail up, finding yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, the kind that makes your knees weak.

it’s like that every time. in public, he’s your best friend, your partner in crime, the boy who twirls you around in the middle of the street just to hear you laugh. but in private, he’s something else entirely—starved, desperate, like he can never get enough of you.

and truthfully, you’re the same way. your hands roam just as much, tugging at his hoodie, tracing over the lines of his jaw. there’s never enough time, never enough space to satisfy the pull between you.

“i love you,” he breathes against your lips, and it doesn’t matter how many times he’s said it before—it still makes your heart stutter.

you smile against his mouth, fingers threading through his hair. “i love you more.”

and he doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease. just kisses you again, slow and deep, like he’s never letting go.